The Battle for Omega
by ReavansMask
Summary: The blood feud between Aria and General Petrovsky has reached its lethal climax. With the people of Omega caught in the middle of it, to say nothing of Garrus Vakarian and Samara, things are about to get ugly. Part of the 4th Life-verse.
1. Chapter 1

**This story takes place in the same universe as Ashara Shepard: the Fourth Life in-between Where They Travelled and What Endured. However, it stands on its own, and Shepard and Liara will only appear briefly. The background, for those who haven't read the lead-in stories, is that Shepard didn't go with Aria to retake Omega. Aria got the station back after Cerberus collapsed, but Petrovsky escaped and Nyreen survived, because the battle where she died never took place.**

* * *

General Oleg Petrovsky, previously of Cerberus and lately of no allegiance other than to himself, is trying very hard to keep the disdain off of his face as he regards the three vorcha standing across the ornate wooden desk from him. Their stench is repellant and their appearance hideous, but they also know Omega inside and out, and for aid that fortuitous, he'll overlook his distaste.

Perhaps a bit too fortuitous, he reflects as their leader, a tall, yellow creature named Grazak steps towards the general. One should always be careful of anyone offering exactly what you want at a reasonable price and he spares at glance at the two guards in the back corners of the room, making sure they're ready for any possible treachery.

A clawed hand is extended and the general gives the vorcha behind it a skeptical look. "Human Custom," Grazak growls. "We make deal. We shake hands."

Petrovsky stands, reaching out with his own hand in spite of his revulsion, but an instant before the two meet, he sees the flash of electricity, the neural stunner built into the vorcha's omni tool activating. Petrovsky dives to the ground, the harmful energies merely grazing his arm rather than disrupting his entire nervous system. The limb still goes numb, but the general retains sufficient presence of mind to roll he as the hits the carpeted deck of his office, narrowing avoiding Grazak as the creature leaps over the desk after him.

From above him, Petrovsky can hear the sounds of gunfire and the horrid shrieks of the vorcha as his guards' assault rifles tear into their flesh before they can reach them. His booted foot connects with Grazak's jaw, driving back the vorcha's attempt to sink his fangs into the general's leg, and before the creature can recover, his head explodes in a shower of rancid blood, soaking the bottom of Petrovsky's pants and a good deal of the papers on his once-tidy desk.

Pulling himself to his feet with his good arm, Petrovsky emerges from behind the desk just in time to see Sorin holstering his Carnifax pistol, a wry smile on his long face. The tall salarian motions to the guards and they begin dragging the corpses of the vorcha out of the room while the general rubs his right arm, relieved that the feeling is starting to return to it.

"Another assassination attempt," Sorin deadpans. "Aria again, one presumes."

"It is the most logical conclusion." This makes the third attack in as many months, and the first in some time where the assassins got this close to him; the last ones were caught as they were trying to sneak aboard the ship. He straightens out his uniform jacket while making a mental note to improve the security scanning procedures. That hidden weapon should not have gotten through undetected. "Either her people or freelancers hoping to collect the bounty."

Sorin laughs. "Fortunate for you that I'm loyal. People have killed and died for a lot less than the five million credits she placed on your head."

"Indeed. There is no shortage of scum looking to become wealthy." In contrast with his suspicion towards the dead vorcha however, Petrovsky trusts Sorin. Four years ago, he rescued the former STG operative from certain death at the hands of vengeful Blood Pack mercenaries angered by his role in the death of their colleagues, and Sorin respects that debt.

"Scum that you continue to recruit, general." The salarian shakes his brown head. "Not to second guess your strategic judgment, but don't you think that we have enough troops by now?"

"I prefer not to leave such matters to chance. There is a difference between having a sufficiency of force and possessing an overwhelming advantage." He pauses for a moment, weighing the variables in his mind. The cleaners have come in to mop up the blood, and Petrovsky motions for the salarian to follow as he makes his way towards the captain's cabin of the re-christened Cerberus cruiser _Hannibal_. "However, I believe that in this instance, my friend, you may be correct. The additional forces may not be worth the risk of further treachery we run by waiting."

The salarian grins wickedly. Petrovsky is very familiar with his bloodlust; a useful trait when properly channeled. Every piece has it's uses and Sorin is a powerful one. "Shall I assume you've given the order, then?"

"Indeed you may. We leave for Omega in two days time. And Sorin," he turns to the salarian before disappearing through the doors to his private chambers, "Make certain that Project Karloff is ready when we arrive." Once before, he foolishly let Aria escape from his grasp, a miscalculation that cost his brother his life. This time, there will be no mercy.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hello, Justicar. What can I do for you?"

"Aria. I thought it prudent to inform you of my visit." If Samara is at all intimated by Aria's gaze, it doesn't show in her cool voice or regal bearing. An attractive trait to be sure; Aria has always enjoyed partners strong enough to pose a challenge. Having some dancer on her knees servicing her might be a pleasant enough way to pass the time, but it's hardly the same as fucking someone worth the effort.

Still, even if Aria could seduce Samara, it wouldn't be a good idea. The whole affair would probably only end with the justicar trying to kill her and what good could come of that? She'd just end up in a fight with Shepard and that's the last thing she needs, especially with Petrovsky still coming for her. Inwardly seething at even the thought of the man, Aria chokes down her rage enough to ask the justicar, "Now I'm informed. What brings you here?"

"A turian smuggler named Lepidus Galorn. He has murdered asari dancers in a number of the ports he has visited and his trail leads to Omega."

Aria shrugs. Her people have done business with the man once or twice, but there's no margin in that kind of crime. "He's all yours. Just remember the rule here and we won't have any trouble."

"I have not forgotten." The justicar turns on her heel, walking out as if all of the armed guards in Afterlife don't even exist and supplying Aria with an excellent view of her ass. It really is a shame she can't give it a shot.

Her regrets are interrupted by the heavy footsteps of her batarian enforcer approaching her sofa. He isn't as unreadable as Samara, his dour expression portending bad news he knows better than to try and sugar-coat. "What is it, Bray?"

"The vorcha missed their check-in, Aria."

She curses. The scaly little bastards don't make for the most competent of assassins, but this bunch had a chance to get close enough to Petrovsky to take a shot at it. "And there's no chance they just haven't made the attempt yet?"

"No. They were scheduled to meet the general yesterday. We have to assume they're dead."

"Fucking amateurs. What about Petrovsky? Any word on that bastard's condition?" She can hope they at least bit off an ear or something.

"In a manner of speaking. Spies report that his forces have begun pulling up stakes. Either he's relocating his base of operations…"

She clenches her purple fist, a biotic aura playing around it. "Or he's heading here." Good. She's tired of playing varren and pyjak with this piece of shit. Let him come.

* * *

The sense of Aria's presence isn't a physical thing. Unlike many despots, the purple-skinned asari never felt the urge to plaster her image all over the station, a fact for which Nyreen Kandros is grateful. It's hard enough being on Omega as it is. Every inch of the station seems to her to be permeated by it's self-styled queen's spirit, the memories of their time together haunting its alleys and clubs, it's slums and mines. Sometimes, when she turns a corner, Nyreen half-expects to see her former lover there standing there, ready with a cruel quip or an imperious kindness.

Nyreen's not sure if she actually wants that to happen or not, but her wishes count for little in this matter. The woman isn't about to walk through her door. Ever since the most recent of General Petrovsky's assassins nearly managed to blow up the restaurant she was eating in, Aria has spent most of her time holed up in Afterlife, the place increasingly resembling a fortress more than a nightclub.

That's left Petrovsky's hirelings to try and sabotage the station, striking out at mining facilities, defense systems, and anything else that might weaken Aria, but it's the people of Omega who have been paying the price. Her Talons along with Doctor Abrams' clinic have had to clean up the mess left in their wake, and the turian fears that the only way this is going to end is with either the general or her ex dead.

She wishes she could be indifferent as to which one it was. The stern moralist in her knows what kind of woman Aria is. Spirits forgive her, she always knew, even when she was sleeping with her. Aria T'Loak is no one's idea of a good person, a murderer and a pirate who'd burn half the galaxy down to get what she thinks she's owed. And yet Nyreen can't make herself not care. The sheer intensity of her, the passion they shared… Even after all this time, the woman has a way of sticking in her head.

"Nyreen!"

The sharp sound of her uninvited visitor's voice pulls Nyreen out of her distracted state. Standing in her quarters in the Talon base is Amelia Morgan, a small, brown-haired human with a quick whit and a foul mouth, but a good scout and hacker, resourceful and loyal to the gang. She wouldn't have barged in without reason.

"I interrupt something, boss?"

"Nothing important." Nyreen stands up from her chair. "What do you need?"

"You have to see this." Amelia touches her omni-tool and vid-footage is projected into the air above them. A small fleet of ships headed by what looks like an old Cerberus heavy cruiser, moving towards… Spirits. That's Omega she's looking at. "Hacked into the station's external cameras. This is happening now. That goat raper Petrovsky is back."

* * *

"Your life is at it's end." Samara walks slowly toward her quarry, run to ground in a dead-end alley. The turian looks around frantically, hoping that his fellow smugglers might come to his aid, but they fled at the first sight of the justicar, leaving him to meet his fate alone. "You have disgraced yourself by your actions. At least face their consequences with a semblance of dignity."

Desperation substitutes for courage and Lepidus' trembling hand draw a heavy pistol from its holster. "Screw you, whore!", he yells in a choked voice but before he can level the gun, a slap of her biotics knocks it to the ground.

He hurls himself forward, a final act of defiance ended when a vicious backhand from the justicar knocks him off of his feet. Samara reaches down, grabbing his head. His eyes are filled with fear but her knowledge of his crimes and centuries of service to the Code remove any trace of pity she might feel. "Find peace in the embrace of the Goddess," she intones, her voice chillier than usual, and a biotically charged fist ends his wretched life, his blood and brains staining the already-filthy alley.

As she walks away from her kill, the scavengers are already swarming, vorcha and other scum looking to strip Lepidus' corpse of whatever items of value he might have been carrying. Watching the feeding frenzy, she wonders once again why she continues to do this. She has bound her life to the Code of the Justicar, true, but there are many ways to fulfill that obligation. Those who, like her, have managed to evade death into their later years often find ways to serve that are less fraught with danger.

She could stay on Lesuss. Helping to maintain security and prevent escapes from the rebuilt Ardat-Yakshi monastery is a noble pursuit, and one that would enable her to spend what time remains to her with the only daughter she has left.

And yet, while she cherishes her visits there, cannot find the peace she wishes for the criminals she sentences to death. For 400 years, she has been a hunter, and the chase seems to have seeped into her very soul. The Reapers may be dead and gone, but there is still no shortage of monsters like the turian she just slew and every time she tries to rest, those sins call out to her to be punished. For now, however, her task is complete and she will return to Lesuss and Falere. Perhaps this time will be different. Perhaps this time she will know peace.

She's halfway to the docking bay when the claxon's wail rends the air and a flicker of concern runs through her mind. This is Omega. Murder and civil unrest are a way of life. For the station alarms to sound, something much more serious must be occurring. Her daughter will have to wait. The Code demands no less.


	3. Chapter 3

Oleg Petrovsky's holographic image springs into existence in front of Aria T'Loak and the old asari favors him with a smile utterly devoid of warmth. "Good of you to come back, general. Hunting you down and killing you was getting tiresome. This will be much faster."

Petrovsky folds his hands behind his back. If he's afraid of her, it doesn't show in his expression, despite the fact that his forces, while impressive, are no match for the station's firepower. "Aria. I see that the years haven't taught you humility. Perhaps I can do better."

"I very much doubt that. You were good enough to upgrade Omega's outer defenses. Now, you can choke on them." She gestures to Bray to prepare the canons to fire. "Target his support ships first. I want this son of a bitch to watch his fleet burn before he dies."

"Unlikely." Petrovsky nods to someone that she can't see and seconds later, Bray's face falls, his four eyes narrowing in frustration.

"Aria, the canons aren't responding."

She snarls. "Try again!"

Petrovsky appears unsurprised. "Technical problems, Aria?"

"How the fuck did you do this?" Her anger is covering a sinking feeling in her gut. If the outer defenses are out, he can pulverize the station from space, killing her without even giving her a chance to fight back. She can only hope he wants it intact. "I cleaned the systems of all of your crap after you ran away like a whipped dog."

"Of course you did." There's triumph in his smile. "I would imagine you used the top of the line commercial detection software on the market. It might interest you to know that Cerberus created the original version of that program." A fucking back door. She's screwed.

"I have deactivated your defense grid, Aria. If you force me to do this the hard way, I will kill everyone of your servants along with you. Or, you could surrender yourself and I will grant them safe passage off of this station. You have two minutes to decide."

She doesn't bother dignifying his ultimatum with a response. Once she knows he doesn't intend to kill them all now, she terminates the call. Turning back to Bray, she snaps, "Tell the technicians to keep working on getting the fucking canons online. Meanwhile, I need you to mobilize all of my forces. Everyone who works for me, everyone that owes me a favor, everyone we can bribe. We're about to be boarded and if that bastard thinks he's taking Omega without a fight, he's got another thing coming."

* * *

According to a strict interpretation of protocol, General Garrus Vakarian shouldn't even be here. He's the head of the Turian 5th Fleet, which is on permanent assignment to suppress pirate activity on the borders of the Terminus system. That means he's supposed to be on his command dreadnought with the bulk of the fleet, not commanding a lone frigate, chasing up a lead. He could claim that he came along because of the importance of the pirates they're tracking, or because he's conducting an impromptu inspection of performance aboard the _Praetor_ _Gladrius_. The real reason, though, is that he's bored.

He left his job at Shepard's academy on Thessia two years ago because he felt like he'd been living in her shadow. He needed to make his own way, to accomplish something without leaning on his old commander, and he thought that the command that Primarch Victus offered him was a chance to do just that. The Reaper War left a lot of detritus in its wake: batarians, ex-Cerberus forces, mercenaries, and unemployed former soldiers with grudges to settle, and helping to stop those who stepped over the line was a job worth doing.

He hadn't realized that once you got to a certain rank, it almost didn't matter what the mission was. The actual chasing down of pirates is supposed to be left to an army of young guns thrilled to be working for the famous General Vakarian. His job mostly consists of sitting behind a desk, delegating assignments to those junior officers and submitting reports about whatever they do back to Palaven.

That's what a good turian is supposed to do, respect the chain of command and follow protocol, but for a war hero, Garrus has never been a very good turian, which explains why he's here on this frigate when it jumps through the Mass Relay. These particular human pirates have been preying on volus shipping for months, and just when Garrus was closing in on their base, they abandoned their operations. The fleet got some intel that they were headed to Omega, and so Garrus decided to send a ship to scope out what they're up to.

Whatever he expected to find though, this isn't it. In place of the traffic of cargo ships, smugglers, pirates, and other scum that usually fills the Omega sky, there's a war fleet. Frigates, troop transports, and one very nasty-looking refitted Cerberus heavy cruiser are closing in on the station, and based on the baffling silence of Omega's guns, it's not going well for Aria.

Turning to his communications officer, he barks, "Get a message back to the rest of the fleet, and tell them to haul ass over here." He's not sure what this is, but he'll feel a whole lot better about dealing with it with superior firepower at his back.

"Negative, General. Our communications are being jammed."

That means the invaders know they're here. Dammit, they're efficient. "Turn around. Set course for the relay, maximum burn."

"Aye, General, course laid…" The ensign at the helm doesn't get any further before the ship shakes with the impact of a missile against the hull. One of the frigates has done a hell of a lot more than take notice of them.

"Evasive maneuvers," he snaps. "All hands to battle stations." A second missile is just barely destroyed in time by the defensive batteries, but the explosion still catches them in it's blast radius.

"General, we're cut off. There are now two frigates between us and the relay."

From bad to worse. Well, when there's no way back, there's nothing to do but advance. Since the invaders don't seem to be trying to destroy the station, it's their best bet. "Lay in course for Omega."

The helmsman fires up the thrusters and the frigate lurches forward. It's damaged from the earlier shots, but fortunately, the bulk of the opposing fleet's attention appears to be elsewhere and the two enemy frigates aren't doing any more then cutting of their escape route.

Their ship makes it most of the way to the station when things go bad. Just as they near the relative safety of a docking bay, the heavy cruiser breaks off towards them, closing fast. A flurry of missiles launch and though they manage to shoot down two of them, another pair gets through, striking them amid-ship.

The shock of the impact throws Garrus from his feet even as the bridge erupts in flames. Above him, he hears the screeching sound of a girder giving way and with a grunt he hurls himself to the side, only narrowing avoiding the crash of metal next to his face. He's not so lucky with the second impact. Trying to pull himself to his feet, half blind from the smoke, he doesn't see the monitor giving way behind him until it's too late. The wind is knocked from his chest as the flaming wreckage slams into his back. He collapses to the floor, but even as he tries to throw it off, a second piece of debris strikes his head, and everything goes black.

* * *

Nyreen doesn't want to be doing this. Aria's presides over a station filled with corruption, violence, and misery, and all she cares about is making a profit off of it. Defending her rule is definitely not why Nyreen left her asari lover and took over the Talons.

And yet, when the call came in from Bray asking for her help to defend the station, what choice did she have but to mobilize her gang? When Petrovsky fled Omega, he unleashed all of the remaining Adjutants on the civilian population in order to distract Aria. The bloody chaos from that ruthless decision took weeks to fully bring under control, and she still has nightmares about some of things that happened in the meantime.

It's for that reason, and not, she swears to herself, any lingering feelings she still has for Aria, that's why she and a group of her best fighters are currently assembled outside of a docking bay. There's a ship barreling towards it, and she and her Talons are going to cut off whatever invaders it disgorges.

The quiet moment of anticipation is shattered by a crash coming from the other side of the thick metal doors and the fire suppression indicator light flashes on.

"Well that was unexpected." Amelia turns to Nyreen for guidance. "If they're on fire, should we just leave these donkey fuckers in there?"

"No. Their ship may be damaged, but some of them may still be a threat. We better neutralize them while they're vulnerable. Am, get the door open."

As the brunette hacker gets to work overriding the fire safety mechanism, Nyreen readies her assault rifle. She's not sure what to expect on the other side. Who exactly has Petrovsky brought with him this time? Former Cerberus troops, mercenaries, pirates…

Turians? The large steel doors slide open to reveal the shattered remains of a turian frigate sprawled across the floor of the docking bay. Flames are spilling out of broken windows and holes in the hull, though the retardants spraying out of the automated systems in the hanger are bringing them under control.

A battered young turian soldier wearing the frayed remnants of a uniform staggers out of the smoke towards her. "Help," he gasps even as his legs give out from under him. "There are people still… still…trapped…"

He collapses at her feet, blood from his mouth spraying onto her boots. She barks, "Spirits! Herak, help him. The rest of you, come with me. We're going to look for survivors."

Her batarian medic bends down to help the injured soldier, but some of the other members of her gang blanch. "Christ, it's a fucking mess in there," George, a tall human with a short temper complains. "You really expect us to go onto that thing?"

"Yes," she snaps. "Think about it. If Petrovsky shot this ship down, any survivors should be willing to help us." If they're in any condition to fight, she thinks to herself. But she decides not to voice that particular caveat right now. Some of her people may be brutal pragmatists, but she was once in the military. It may have been a lifetime ago, but whatever their condition, she's not leaving these people to burn to death.


End file.
